


Our Lady of Winter

by Zazibine



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dancing, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Curses, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Apocalypse, Purple Prose, Slice of Life, Some Plot, Time Shenanigans, Unreliable Narrator, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 03:46:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17655470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zazibine/pseuds/Zazibine
Summary: A tale of a house frozen in time and trapped in a realm of eternal midwinter, and of a girl who stands witness as a man dares to ask the Winter Queen for his freedom.





	Our Lady of Winter

 

  There sits a house on a hill, far from here, in a place you and I have never been. Around it lies a field of freshly fallen snow and sloping hills, all dotted with dark evergreens and pines. The house itself seems fairly normal, with wooden walls and a fire in the fireplace, and windows that even now, in the heart of a cold winter's night, burn with golden, gleaming candlelight. Despite the ice on the eves, the joy inside remains untouched by winter's hand.

    Although the house stands alone (for, in truth, it is the only one for miles), it is far from lonely. A family lives within its walls- a mother, a father, and a single young daughter whom they love very much. They have lived together for many years, and with luck and if Winter is kind, perhaps they shall live there for many more. But let us not focus on the future- for now, let us focus on tonight. 

  The little girl sits by the window as life goes on around her. The fire crackles in the hearth, lighting the room with a soft orange glow and casting shadows on the faded rugs and oaken floors. Every now and then, the flames sputter and spark as wind rushes over the top of the chimney. An old clock sits on the mantle amidst other scattered knick-knacks, a layer of dust coating its unmoving hands and dulling the tarnished metal. Old pictures hang on the walls, the faces within them faded beyond all recognition but carefully cleaned of dirt all the same. Above it all hangs a lone oil lamp, its light flickering against the shadows that cling to the corners of the room.

     In the kitchen, the mother can be heard cooking while rustling pages signal that the girl's father is  reading the long-out-of-date newspaper once more. The smoke from his pipe lingers, drifting in lazy curls through the air. The smell combines with that of the pine-wood walls, mingling into one- the smell of home.

   But none of that matters to the girl, who sits at the window, at the center of it all, and watches the snow fall. The glass is cold to the touch, chilled by the wind outside, and foggy with the warmth of the hearth. Frost curls at the edges like lace, veiling the world beyond from clear view and hiding its details away like secrets. Snow drifts down from the sky in soft puffs, coating the rolling hills in white. Under the light of the full moon, their gentle peaks and dips glimmer a silvery, pale blue. 

 (They look like the sea, the little girl whispers to herself. She does not know why she thinks this).

 All is quiet and still.

Until it is not.

    A large, black shape trundles up one of the hills in the distance like some great, dark beetle. Within it, something chugs away, coughing and sputtering against the cold. Through the frost on the glass, the girl can just barely make out the four wheels that mark it as some sort of vehicle, although she cannot make out the horse that must pull it. (For, what sort vehicle can move without some creature to pull it, she wonders). 

     As the beetle-like lump shudders to a halt upon the crown of the hill, a figure silhouetted in charcoal gray emerges from within it. The figure seems to be a man of some sort, although why he is here she cannot say. (This does not worry her, for all that it should have).

    After a long moment, another figure- this one of a woman- crests the hill to stand before him. Instead of black, she appears silhouetted in a pale, whispery sort of blue, the outline of her long dress and elegant crown just barely visible against the rich midnight of the sky. As the girl watches the silent pair, their visage seems to sharpen, their details becoming crisp and clear under the stars. The fog upon the window draws away to offer her a clear view as the man drops down upon bended knees, arms clasped before him. His figure is cast in stark relief against the snow, and she can see his lips move hurriedly, as if he were begging for something or other. In response, the  woman's shoulders begin to shake as she laughs at his desperation. A sharp gesture, and the woman has the man to rise from his position. With a fluid sort of ease, she approaches him, before settling a hand upon his shoulder and pulling him close. 

   He stiffens at her touch.

   The woman seems to frown, and in reply, the man pulls her forward hesitantly into a familiar position, his hand upon her waist and the other clasped tight in her grasp. And, at the sound of some unseen cue, they begin to dance under the stars. At first the man moves sharply, almost jerkily, a sharp contrast to the woman's unearthly, flowing grace. But slowly, as the wind whirls around them and the snow flurries on, his steps smooth to match hers, and he finds his balance. His gray begins to waltz in time with her pale blue, blending with the black of the night and the white of the snow. The moon shines down from on high, peeking out between the ever-moving clouds that rush towards the horizon, carried by the wind. Its glow illuminates the two like a spotlight, giving a silvery edge to their every movement, making them seem strange and fey under the night sky. 

It is beautiful.

It is magical, and wonderful, and a strange kind of dangerous that comes from watching something you shouldn't be be (and perhaps a few other sorts as well).

   To the little girl, it feels oddly private, and perhaps the wintery darkness agrees, for within the space of one blink and the next, the woman is gone and the gray figure stands alone once more. As she watches from her window, the man seems to waver on his feet at the sudden loss, slight tremors wracking his body, before collapsing backwards against his strange vehicle. The two dark shapes are still and silent in the night as the snow falls on, blanketing them in a layer of white. Given enough time, perhaps they shall become indistinguishable from the hills around them, just another white drift under the moonlight. 

    Shaking away her quiet discomfort at the scene, the little girl turns away from the window as her mother announces that lunch is ready. She is far too young to understand the significance of what she just saw, or strangeness of the ever-present night outside her door. She has never seen a sunrise in all her life, and no one can say if she ever will. All she knows is that she is safe with her family, as winter falls around them, just as it will tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that as well. Forever on and on, winter, just as it had been for the last eight years.

  And she is fine with that; as long as the Lady wills it.

**Author's Note:**

> Another old work imported from Young Writers Society. Honestly, I wasn't quite sure where I was going with this. A lot of my stuff has a ton of atmosphere and description, but the plot always leaves something to be desired. I hope this made sense?


End file.
